i was always an unusual girl, my mother told me i had a chameleon soul. no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean. and if i said that i didn’t plan for it to turn out this way, i’d be lying. because i was born to be the other woman. i belonged to no one — who belonged to everyone, who had nothing — who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that i couldn’t even talk about — and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.
every night i used to pray that i'd find my people — and finally i did — on the open road. we had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore — except to make our lives a work of art.
live fast. die young. be wild. and have fun.
